


The People We Used to Be

by nekostyx



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bokuaka - Freeform, Character Death, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Marriage, Red String of Fate, Second Chances, akaashi-anxiety, angst with happy ending, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:47:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27278218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekostyx/pseuds/nekostyx
Summary: Bokuto has long stopped seeing the red string that tied him to Akaashi.A fateful brush with death. A dangerous bargain. Another chance.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji & Miya Osamu, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42





	The People We Used to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Just a reminder, Akaashi’s birthday is December 5th.
> 
> Hi guys, thanks for taking the time to read this work and give it a chance! this is a multi chapter book, and I ended up changing the story in the first chapter!! The first chapter is the worst/ darkest it gets!! 
> 
> I hope y’all enjoy it!!! If you do, I would love any kudos or comments to get to know y’alls thoughts!! 
> 
> First chapter Inspo: https://twitter.com/temari_am/status/1321856199768170497?s=21 and quote inspo by David jones!
> 
> TW: slight graphic depictions of blood, slight anxiety

_Of all the people I used to be, I miss the one you loved the most.  
_

_-David Jones  
  
*****  
_

_[Lovely- Billie Eilish](https://open.spotify.com/track/0u2P5u6lvoDfwTYjAADbn4?si=fZyGn8P0RN-Q1bMdnfvH8A) _

_June 27, 2015_

_Bokuto Koutorou (12:45 pm): Hey, hey!! Do you know where Osamu is? Akaashi wanted me to pick up some origami for lunch.  
_

_Miya Atsumu (12:49 pm): ... I’m pretty Samu went over to your place. Him and Akaashi are eating lunch together.  
_

_Miya Atsumu (12:51 pm): Did Akaashi not tell you?  
_

_Bokuto Koutorou (12:53 pm): Must’ve slipped my mind! Forgot thanks tsumutsumu!!_

_*****_

_December 4th, 2016_

“I think we should break up.” 

Bokuto grips the edge of the steering wheel, fingers digging into the rich leather of the luxury sports car. The explosion of feelings is not surprising, the usual shock and annoyance, but the most dominant of all is relief _._ It washes over him in rolling waves that feel like fresh breaths of air, the first taste of freedom. There’s some small, sick, twisted part of him that wants to hurts Akaashi as much as he’s hurt Bokuto, wants to scream at him, break him, completely _shatter_ him like he did to Bokuto. He _wants_ it so, so bad, like an unfed craving that’s spiraled into addiction. 

Green eyes, the color of sharp jade. Calloused hands that always pick him up. Breathy moans of _Koutorou_ that sound more like worship under the cover of darkness.

He blinks and breathes out. “What?”   
  
Akaashi repeats the words, slowly and carefully like he’s rehearsed them multiple times, and, knowing Akaashi, he probably has. Apparently, Bokuto hadn’t misheard. 

“But, why?” He asks, and Bokuto sneaks a quick peek at Akaashi, pale, sharp features blending in perfectly with the snow. Akaashi’s always been hard to read, and a year apart has done nothing to mediate that. “I don’t understand.” 

The raven haired wrings his fingers, an old habit Bokuto thought he had long lost. “You should focus on your career.” 

_Like you always have._

The unspoken truth hangs in the air between them, snowballing into something they can never overcome. The first strike had been missing Akaashi’s calls. Not coming home for a year was the last. 

“Is this about not seeing you since last December?” Bokuto huffs, trying to simmer down his annoyance. “Because I can-“

”No.” Akaashi answers. “I-“ he inhales shakily- “I doubt this will make much of a difference. We were practically broken up before anyways.”   
  
Akaashi’s words sting, like the truth often does, because he’s right. Bokuto hasn’t seen Akaashi in over a year, and their texts have been few and sparse over the last few months, more out of obligation than out of desire. Bokuto lies, spitting unconvincing excuses that he just doesn’t have the time anymore like he did when he was a teenager, to chase after Akaashi and what they had, that Bokuto’s on to so much bigger things now- Japan Nationals, the Olympics, dozens of adorning gold medals.

It takes the cold awakening of reality (which reality? The one where Bokuto refuses to see him for a year? Or perhaps the one where he’s forced to watch the eager fans with their bright eyes and too long touches when they crowd Bokuto after a game? Maybe it’s all of it) to shake Akaashi’s illusion, one in which he lived in a world where Bokuto still loved him. At the end of the day, everything he is is nothing compared to what the game is to Bokuto. He remembers Osamu’s words so clearly, _always second Keiji. Doesn't it get tiring?_ Their love is simply a ghost of what it used to be, and maybe it’s this realization that convinces Bokuto to surrender without so much a fight. 

“Okay,” he mutters. 

From the corner of his eye, Akaashi blinks rapidly, long, nimble hands that the younger Bokuto had practically worshipped, darting up to wipe his eyes. Akaashi’s not sure why it hurts so much, of course Bokuto shouldn’t fight for them. Bokuto deserves the world, and Akaashi hopes Bokuto finds it one day, even if it’s not with him. 

“I, uh, can move my stuff out tonight- once we reach the apartment. Kuroo won’t mind if I crash for a night.” Bokuto tries his best to comfort him, but he ends up making Akaashi cry harder, silent tears that shouldn’t shift Bokuto’s chest painfully but they do.

“It’s alright. I already packed all of my belongings and moved them to a new place. You should keep the apartment anyways. It’s yours.” 

“Ah. Okay.” Bokuto says. “Thanks.”

An awkward air quickly fills the car, and Bokuto, searching for a desperate escape, blasts the radio, dialing the music to the max volume. Unfortunately for him, it’s Einaudi’s _Experience_ , the song Bokuto played as he kneeled down on one knee and proposed to Akaashi near the old Fukurodani cherry blossoms.

That had been over two years ago. The wedding never came. 

Never would come actually, he thought darkly. In fact, he glances at Akaashi’s hand, beautiful emerald and diamond ring glinting in the pale light, and wonders if Akaashi can still see the red string between them.

Bokuto stopped seeing his a long time ago. He’s not exactly sure when he stopped being in love with Akaashi, but sometime between the engagement and not coming home, everything fell apart.

“Is your red string still there, Akaashi?” Bokuto asks intrigued, their first conversation as strangers rather than lovers, though perhaps they had been strangers for a while now. It’s amazing, honestly, how less and less Bokuto understands him with every passing second. 

Akaashi smiles sadly. “I used to be Keiji to you.” 

Bokuto’s not sure how to respond to that, but it turns out he doesn’t have to because Akaashi tugs off the ring, the one that costs a small fortune, and gingerly places it in the cup holder between them. The last lingering momentum of their time together. 

“You should give it to someone you truly love.” Akaashi advises. He stares at the red string woven tightly against his ring finger before shifting his gaze to the person it leads to. Bokuto is just as handsome as ever. More softly, Akaashi adds. “I’m sure they’ll be a very lucky person.” 

Bokuto’s mouth feels as dry as parchment, and he wants to laugh at Akaashi like he hadn't ruined love for Bokuto. Instead, he just nods.

The rest of the car ride passes by in a heavy silence, the phantom of everything they _were_ chipping away at already crumbling walls as they drive through the old, narrow road that winds around the mountain pass. He thought ending it would free him of the crushing weights he carries, but he doesn’t. Bokuto loses himself in his thoughts, surprising, but something he’s become very adept at when your only companions are yourself and haunting memories you’d rather forget. He hasn’t told anyone about what he saw, not even Kuroo, because Akaashi still deserved the admiration and love of their friends, things Bokuto could no longer give him. But now it burns at his tongue, he just wants to spit out _why,_ wants a fucking answer because he deserves that much. The monster inside of him yips gleefully and reminds him of _that_ day-

“Koutorou!”

A flash of a warning before blinding flashlights crash into him, the brightness turning his vision white. He sees it before it happens: a herculean, 18-wheeler driving on the wrong side of the narrow road, speeding to them in a blur of white, right towards the drivers seat where Bokuto is perched, completely frozen. It’s funny, how Bokuto knows he’s about to die, and all he can think is-

 _Thank god Keiji is safe.  
_  
He can’t look away from the impending doom. Time slows down, and Bokuto is suddenly painfully aware of every minuscule detail- the coldness of his breath, the full, yellow moon, were Akaashi’s fingers always that long? It’s the bareness of Akaashi’s ring finger that pulls him out of his trance, and with reflexes sharpened by decades of grueling practice, Bokuto, by some miracle, manages to shove Akaashi out the door.

It’s a second before the impact hits him, wind knocked out of his lungs, air suddenly becoming his worst enemy as it escapes his clawing hand. The other arm, his good hitting arm, that had pushed Akaashi into the safety of the snow is pelted with the shards of flying glass, not discriminating as they graze his face and arms. Bokuto knows, without a doubt, he’ll never be able to play volleyball after this.  
  


It’s over in a flash of a second, pain as swift as an angel on wings, though much more cruel because every inch of him burns until it gradually fades into a soft throb. Beneath him, the cold snow offers a nice contrast to the warmth in his body, and he assumes, somewhere in the back of his mind, the force of the collision had ejected him from the car. The ringing in his ears grows louder, just pitch static as the snow begins to clump on his lashes. _  
_

_Ah, damn it. He wanted to hear Keiji’s voice one last time.  
_

Nothing hurts anymore, and now, when Bokuto closes his eyes, he thinks he can see familiar green eyes, their beauty as piercing as ever. They’re back in high school, back before everything went to shit, the last day of summer before Bokuto leaves for Tokyo University to be precise. Akaashi’s leaning back against him, the scent of his vanilla body wash and salonpas surrounding Bokuto as Akaashi shakes against him in laughter whenever Bokuto tries to steal a kiss. Akaashi chastises him- _we’re in public, Bokuto-san-_ but nonetheless, the pretty setter spoils him with a brief peck, lips pulling into a soft smile against Bokuto’s mouth, that melts Bokuto’s brain. Bokuto doesn’t know what heaven is like, but he imagines it feels a little bit like this.

_Maybe this isn’t so bad.  
_

And then, he’s screaming in pain- sharp, ice scathing pangs that burns through his body. He glances down at his arm- his good hitting arm that had pushed Akaashi out- and watches the broken muscle and bone stitch themselves back together as if dictated by a greater force until the skin glistens, brand new and completely unblemished.   
  
The world spins around him, and, despite the fact that he’s no longer losing blood, he still feels dizzy. What the fuck had happened? Bokuto relays the events in his mind- Keiji breaking up with him, beautiful fingers that no longer bare his ring, a truck, and then pushing Keiji out-

Golden eyes widen. _Fuck. Keiji._  
  
It takes every ounce of his willpower and more, some hidden reserve of determination to Akaashi, to drag himself upwards. There’s a ringing in his ears, and the world tilts slightly left if he keeps his eyes opened for too long. Surprisingly, it’s the red tinted snow that grounds him, and he spends a second blinking at it, wondering if snow was supposed to be another color but red. Bokuto leaves, stumbling around in search for a familiar head of dark curls with no avail. The snow rains down more furiously, merciless in its barrage as the flakes pelt his face with unrelenting force. It’s eerily quiet, as if nothing had happened and death was still a thing of old folklore, dressed in a dark cloak with a sharpened scythe, and not breathing over them a moment ago.

Bokuto squints against the night, begging his eyes to strain a little harder. Why can’t he find Keiji? The panic sets in his chest, sending his heart into erratic, frantic rhythms that pound in his ears, stomach sloshing nervously. 

And then he hears it. Tiny, labored breaths, probably from the too thin mountain air, coming from the edge of the cliff. 

Dread settles in the bottom of his gut, and Bokuto doesn’t think he’s ever sprinted faster in his life. 

“Keiji!” 

Akaashi dangles from the ledge, the only saving grace his long, thin fingers that once used to set flawlessly for Bokuto without hesitation, but now grip crumbling rock in a difference of life and death. Akaashi’s not a small man, no, not with his tall six foot frame and lithe muscles, but against the backdrop of the crashing ocean below him, Bokuto begins to realize just how fragile human life is. He dives into the freezing snow, piles of ice and rock digging into his body, as he desperately clings onto Keiji’s arms. 

“Keiji,” he trembles, and tries to steel his nerves for Akaashi. “Hold on. You’re going to be okay.” 

Terrified green eyes look back at him, and Bokuto understands why. 

Keiji is slipping, grip on the rocky ledge quickly becoming undone as he slides further away from Bokuto and closer to death. 

_No, no, no, no._

Panic sets in, and Bokuto knows it’s suicidal at this point, but he lunges forward, half his body dangling over the cliff, hold loosening until it’s pushed back to the tips of Keiji’s fingers.

Bokuto grips them, sweaty and cold and slowly slipping from his own grasp, but that’s the unthinkable. _“Keiji,”_ he gasps out with the precious little air he has. “Just stay on. Please. Just hang on.”

Emerald green eyes, resigned at their fate and slightly bright, stare at him, and he feels the wind knocked out of his lungs. He wants to cry. How could he have forgotten how beautiful Keiji was. 

“It’s okay, Koutorou.” Akaashi’s voice is impossibly soft, especially when he murmurs Bokuto’s name in an effort to soothe him.It’s a wave of shame that rolls over Bokuto. Even when he hadn’t seen him in a year, Keiji still says his name like a prayer, no malice, only pure, unadulterated love for him. “You can let go now.” 

Fingers slipping. Why isn’t Keiji hanging on? Bokuto wants to scream, _I hate you. Please don't leave me._

“K-Keiji, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please stay.” Bokuto cries, big, ugly, fat tears rolling down the frozen valleys of his cheeks. It creeps up on him, this truth he still refuses to accept. 

“I don’t think we were meant to be together, Koutorou.” 

“Don’t say that.” But even as Bokuto protests, the sad smile on Keiji’s face tells him otherwise. “This isn’t us. I refuse, no. _This_ is our destiny?” 

“If you want to call it that.” 

“What do you call it?” 

A pause. Then,

“Reality. It’s okay to me go, Koutorou.” 

_Don’t you want to be free?_

Of course, Akaashi knows. He never thought Bokuto, warm, bright, a burning star he never stops looking at, could be so cold, and, by god, did it fucking hurt. The distance, the apathy, the detachment. And the realization dawned upon him months ago while he had been lying in their cold bed, staring up at the ceiling because his mind had been a swirling hurricane of suffocating questions and overwhelming guilt _._ He’s well aware how his love makes Bokuto feel- suffocated, angry, bitter. Akaashi’s been dragging the older man down since they began, and he thinks there will never be a lifetime, whether the next one or a million from now, in which he can deserve Bokuto.

_I’m sorry for burdening you._

He allows himself one last lingering glance at beautiful sunrise eyes, the color of early dawn on a summer morning. 

“ _I love you.”_

And then, he lets go.

Bokuto screams no, throat aching from the suddenness, but Akaashi slips from his fingers, tumbling down the cliff, not gracefully as they portray in the movies, but with sickening crunches that let Bokuto know Keiji is dead before he even hits the water. The waves swallow him greedily, red tinging the great expanse of water, before it vanishes like dust. 

Bokuto blinks at the ocean, a merciless cold monster, before a horrifying scream erupts around him, and it takes him a second to realize it’s coming from him. Now that he’s begun, he can’t stop. Low, raw screeches that sound like an injured feral animal. He screams into oblivion, into this abyss of nothing that has taken Keiji whole, and rocks on the soles of his feet. 

Around him, the red string he thought disappeared so many years ago pools near his knees.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, thank you so much for taking the time to read this!! I hope you liked it, and if you did, I would love to know your thoughts!! I promise there’s a happy ending, but I’m just a slut for good angst.


End file.
